


Now only is there certainty for me

by crookedspoon



Series: Let your fingers do the talking [31]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, F/F, First Time, Light Bondage, Masturbation, POV Poison Ivy, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: Ivy hates human emotion, yet she can't deny having feelings for Harley. So she decides to do something about them.





	Now only is there certainty for me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reeby10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeby10/gifts).



> Fills "Ivy gets sick of waiting for Harley to leave the Joker so puts on a show while Harley thinks she (Ivy) doesn't know she's (Harley) there. Then more ensues." from an old batman kink meme.

Ivy is not particularly fond of human emotion. Just look at poor Harley, so besotted with that fool clown. Ivy doesn't understand what she sees in him. Doesn't _want_ to understand.

So what if he is _fun?_ Didn't they have fun together, too?

Human emotions are so base and unregulated and just overall unpleasant. Ivy would have thought she had shed them like a deciduous tree sheds its foliage in the fall. There is but one problem with that metaphor: trees grow back their leaves.

And so, it seems, had she.

In the beginning, she'd been blind to her feelings. They had manifested as an anger toward the clown for treating Harley the way he did, then at Harley for always forgiving him, for always _going back_ to him.

 _Has she no self-esteem?_ Ivy would rant to herself each morning she'd find Harley gone. _She has so many talents and she chooses to squander them on that human-shaped waste of space._

Her heart had been so empty then, so filled with betrayal, and the paradoxical nature of that feeling gave Ivy pause. She didn't want to have human emotions, yet Harley always reminded her that no matter how far gone she considered herself to be, there was always a part of her that remained human.

Ivy had yet to decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

It couldn't be too bad now, could it, since it gave her a way to relate to Harley; she distantly remembers what it was like to be used and discarded by a man once she was no longer useful to him. She thinks she might even have been in love with him or something equally naive. She can no longer be sure, which is certainly for the better. If anyone had ever tricked her like that, he does not deserve her time of day.

But Harley... Harley has betrayed her many times, in many ways, and yet. And yet Ivy finds herself unable to reject her, to say no, to send her on her way without caring for her wounds or her mental wellbeing.

It used to bother her. It used to infuriate her. "Get a grip," she used to tell Harley, but who she really meant was herself. Human emotions are chaotic and strange and just overall so counter to the peace she finds within the Green.

She used to resent that part of her that could not achieve the equilibrium the Green taught her of, that human part of her that could not cease its struggles.

But no longer. She has accepted the struggle as part of her now, because is not struggle the way of life?

She has realized that she wants Harley – not only as a dear friend, but as a lover, as Harley wants the Joker, as Ivy has never been able to admit to wanting anyone before.

This realization hit her harder than any of Batman's punches, because Ivy had thought she'd given up caring about meat bags. But Harley isn't just any old meat bag to her. Harley is special, Harley reminds Ivy that she herself had been a meat bag once, and although Ivy would like to forget about that period in her life, Harley makes it seem okay. There's nothing wrong with being a meat bag, with having feelings, as long as they are for her.

Ivy has spent long hours examining her body's reaction to the thought of Harley, as any scientist would. Her heart would speed up if she so much as thought she glimpsed a peak of Harley on the street, her insides tingle if she so much as caught a whiff of Harley's scent, her breath catch if she so much as remembered Harley's blooming smiles in the morning.

It was worse when Harley was right beside her, and even worse than that when she wasn't.

Ivy would inhale the traces of Harley's shampoo left on her pillow while she stroked herself, and it'd be more powerful than any pollen that crossed her path during her walks through nature reserves.

She had to have Harley, her fixation with the clown be damned. He would never be good enough for Harley, anyway.

Ivy, on the other hand, has proved time and again that she can be there for Harley when she needs her. That she can provide support and healing.

Surely that should be enough of a basis to build on.

She spends hours devising plan after plan on how to best snare Harley, make her fall in love with Ivy in turn, but none of them strike her as right or ripe for success. There is too much force involved, too much begging, too much of everything. It is overwhelming, and if Ivy is susceptible to that, Harley will be even more so. She has to remember that Harley might not even like her the way Ivy does. It's painful, but it is what it is.

Ivy almost wishes Harley would spare her the agony and come to her herself, heart on a platter, but that is wishful thinking. Like Harley would ever...

Except, she is here now, slinking into Ivy's lair, new bruises on her arms.

If Ivy had not already been excited by the latest plan she'd just discarded, pity and rage would take hold of her in equal measures. But she could not let her chance of wooing Harley slip by her. Anger would not serve her.

The plan Ivy resorts to in that moment is neither very cunning nor logical, something she could have prided herself on, but what is pride in the face of want?

She desires Harley in a way she has never desired any other human being before, and the only way she could think of to demonstrate this was to demonstrate herself: her step grows lighter as she dances among her orchids, swaying her hips as she sprays them with water and encourages them to grow even stronger.

She sprays herself too, to cool off, but the mist covering her face and neck only serves to intensify her need to touch herself. It mixes with her sweat and rolls down her neck to the swell of her breasts. Ivy places the bottle to the side before running her fingers through her hair and shaking out her tresses. 

Harley's attention is on her now, she can feel it through the Green. Harley had entered her lair hurt and confused, ready to jump into Ivy's arms and bawl her eyes out, knowing Ivy would be unable to send her away without at least tending to her wounds and allowing her to tell her latest tale of woe.

Not tonight.

Tonight, Harley would witness Ivy's tale, and her reaction to it would decide whether it is one of woe or of something else.

But Ivy cannot be thinking about negative outcomes now, not when pleasure is coursing through her veins and the need to touch herself is burning on her skin.

She switches on the sprinkler system and spreads her arms to welcome the cool shower. There is a squeak behind her banana leaves that tells her Harley wasn't expecting this. But it does not draw her out of hiding yet. Apparently, she would much rather watch for now.

Which is fine for Ivy. Fingertips running over her neck and shoulders, she lets the foliage covering her breasts fall away. Even with Harley's gaze resting upon her, she does not feel exposed. Rather, she feels at home in her element. Shyness is a cultural artifact the Green does not recognize. 

Ivy's hands roam over her stomach and thighs, then back to her hair, soaking in the light shower. The ferns brushing Harley's hands and ankles tell her she's transfixed, unable to tear her gaze away and perhaps beginning to register some responses in her own body. Her ferns cannot be sure. They can measure a slight increase in her body temperature, but they know nothing about human excitement. So much better for them.

She thanks them for monitoring Harley and shuts off the sprinklers.

As she pads over to recline on an overgrown adenium plant, Ivy can hardly contain her own excitement. She cups her breasts, a moan on her breath, and lets her head fall back and her legs splay open. She rubs her thighs, her belly, squeezes her breasts, slowly working up her arousal.

And Harley's, it seems. The banana leaves shielding Harley from view are beading with condensation from her hot breath.

If their positions were reversed, Ivy would not want to disturb Harley yet either. She would want to look her fill, to drink in every detail of how Harley behaves when she thinks she is alone.

So Ivy continues to stroke her skin, running her fingers over her labia and back again, teasing Harley with a glimpse of what could be hers.

It takes a conscious effort to keep her legs from clamping shut, especially once she spreads her slick over her clit and begins to pleasure herself in earnest, all thought of how it might look to Harley forgotten. 

Her mind is centered on the throbbing in her core and the wet sliding of her fingers as they try to curl deeper and faster inside of her. She can't help herself: she comes with Harley's name on her lips.

At that moment, Harley all but falls out of her hiding place and onto her face, breasts exposed and hands disappearing in her short shorts. It's only Ivy's rose stems that catch her before she lands in the mulch.

"Harley!" Ivy says as she hurries over as if she might catch her in time herself. The rose stems carefully set her down on her feet.

"'m sorry, Red, I didn't mean to— I mean, I didn't come here to—"

She covers her breasts with the cups of her bra and her face with her hands. It's bright pink and beautiful, and the fly of her jean shorts are still open, tempting Ivy to slip her own fingers inside. She ignores the discoloration of her skin.

"Harley, what's wrong?" Ivy asks and curls her fingers around Harley's to tug them away from her face. They smell like her and Ivy wants nothing more than to put them in her mouth.

"Nothing, I just... were you—were you thinking about _me_ when you..."

"Yes, Harley," she says truthfully, "does that bother you?"

"No, it... I didn't know you felt that way about me. I feel like I should apologize for not noticing earlier."

"Nonsense," Ivy says and strokes a strand of hair behind Harley's ear. "How could you know when I kept it from you? I even kept it from myself all this time."

"Oh," Harley says and settles a hand on Ivy's shoulder. "Oh! You're still so... naked."

Ivy smiles. Harley is adorable when she is flustered. "Do you want me to cover up?"

"You, um, don't have to cover up for me unless you want to," Harley says, wide-eyed and worrying her lip, unable to stop staring at Ivy.

"What I want is to kiss you, Harley."

"I want that, too."

Ivy tilts her face a little to the side before she presses her lips to Harley's, first very chastely, to test the water. When Harley doesn't pull away or give any indication of disliking it, she kisses her with increasing intent. Harley meets her with equal fervor. With one hand, Ivy cups Harley's head and with the other, she pulls her closer. Harley moans into her mouth as she deepens the kiss.

"I want to touch you, Red."

"Go ahead."

Her heart is a rapid-fire staccato in her chest. Ivy interlaces her fingers with Harley's and guides them over her sides and to her breasts to feel it. It's her turn to moan when Harley squeezes them. Ivy's own hands disentangle to knead Harley's breasts through her bra, even es Harley kisses a trail down her neck. She tips her head back when her tongue laves at her skin.

It takes all her focus to undo the clasps of Harley's bra, because Harley's lips on her chest are setting her insides on fire. She brushes the straps off her shoulders and her bra dangles off her arms when she sucks one of Ivy's nipples into her mouth. Ivy sucks in a sharp breath at the same time, crushing Harley's head against her chest with one hand and seeking purchase on her body with the other.

Her skin is as slippery as Ivy's from their brief shower earlier. Her shorts and underwear are damp when Ivy finally slips her fingers between them, and Harley squeaks when Ivy gives her firm ass cheeks a firm squeeze.

She's been wanting to do that since Harley first pranced through her kitchen in a few stitches that barely deserved the name 'pajamas.'

"Red?"

"Hm?" Ivy hums, brushing over the soaked fabric of Harley's underwear. That, at least, wasn't from the shower earlier, but maybe from the display.

"Red, I want you."

"I thought you'd never say this."

Ivy has been wanting to bed Harley on roses for so long, she can hardly believe it is happening. Petals rain around them and foliage grows, so she can ease Harley down on it. Harley giggles, in awe with the beauty of Ivy's creation – and because she's ticklish.

Once Harley is reclining on a bed of flowers, Ivy helps her shimmy out of her shorts. Her bra already lies forgotten at their side.

Ivy strokes Harley through her panties and kisses her deeply. At the same time, she lets her rose bushes grow their stems around Harley's arms, a bloom at each end, tugging them to the ground.

Harley looks just a little surprised, perhaps more at herself for not expecting this sooner. She doesn't tell Ivy to cut it out, however, not in so many words.

"But I want to touch you, Red."

"So do I, and you can touch me all you want later, but first I want to focus all my attention on you." She tosses her hair over one shoulder and strokes Harley's face. "Will you do me that favor?"

Harley nods slowly, brows knitted, but Ivy's kiss melts the expression away.

She takes her time exploring Harley's body, from the curve of her neck to the shape of her breasts and the dip of her belly button. By the time Ivy reaches the juncture of her thighs, Harley is squirming and pleading with her to take her already.

Unhurried, Ivy peels away Harley's panties and rolls them down her legs. Once they are discarded, Ivy traces their path in reverse up Harley's shins, more stems winding around them in her wake. 

"Ngh, Red. Stop teasing me."

"Is this what you want?" Ivy asks and trails a finger just outside her gorgeous pink flesh.

Harley jerks. "Yes. Almost. Just a little more to the left."

"Like this?" Her finger is gathering moisture now.

"Yes. More. _Please."_

It's delightful to watch Harley's opening flutter, longing for touch. Ivy likewise thirsts for a taste. She swirls her finger through Harley's wetness, following the slick slide into her, just as she lowers her mouth to her.

Harley cries out and bucks against her, and Ivy accepts this as all the invitation she needs. She drags her finger in and out of Harley leisurely, drags her tongue through her folds as if tasting the divine. _She_ certainly tastes divine.

Harley makes high-pitched noises every time Ivy's tongue flicks over her clit, and by the time Ivy is lapping at her core, Harley's own tongue is sticking out of her mouth.

She is a gorgeous mess, lips bitten raw, hair sticking to her forehead and blood beading around the thorns that have pricked Harley's skin.

"Wanna taste you, Red. Please."

Not one to deny Harley such a request, Ivy swings her leg over Harley's head and carefully lowers herself onto Harley's face. A spark of heat shoots through her at the first stroke of Harley's tongue, better than anything her own fingers could ever achieve. 

Bending back over Harley, she sucks her precious nub into her mouth and teases her opening with her fingers. Harley jerks against her again as if electrified, whining and struggling in her bonds. She's panting against Ivy's core, pressing open-mouthed kisses to it and tasting her essence.

It's not enough to get Ivy off, but that is none of her concern now. She has everything she needs. Fingering Harley and flicking her tongue against her clit, Ivy concentrates on getting Harley off instead.

"Yes, oh my god, right there, yes, yes, please, so close, don't stop, so close, please."

Her babbling turns unintelligible after that. Just as Ivy thinks Harley's orgasm hits, she releases her from her thorny embrace.

Harley's spine goes taut and she _screams,_ twitching and trembling as if an electric current were running through her. Ivy strokes her until she deflates, then curls up against her side and brushes her fingers over her arms and legs, smearing little patterns of blood across her skin. If nothing else, they serve to distract from the bruises for now.

After a while, Harley threads her fingers through Ivy's and nuzzles her cheek, grinning sweetly. 

"I hope that means you'll let me cuddle up with you tonight."

"Will you stay for breakfast?"

"And lunch. And dinner."

"Then yes."

It's not a promise to stay with Ivy forever, but it'll do for now. As long as Harley doesn't vanish the following day, Ivy has a chance to show her how much better their life could be together and that she doesn't need the clown.

Ivy is not fond of human emotions, but she is fond of Harley, and if keeping her means to let herself feel all those uncomfortable things, then she'll do just that. 

Because Harley, damn this sweet girl, is worth the trouble and should be shown all the love in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Vast Hour" by Genevieve Taggard.


End file.
